The Boy on the Roof
by Superpicklechops
Summary: A 14 year old John Watson had moved to London after a traumatic incident in the summer. He hates his new school and his new home until he sees the boy on the roof. Who is the boy and can he help John fit in? Awful summary, better story. Includes some strong language and references to bullying. Rated T to be sure. NO SLASH, just happiness! (Hopefully, my brain works weirdly...)
1. London Lights

John Watson sat solemnly, frowning at his laptop screen. The title of the essay flickered rudely in his face:

_Describe what you did over the summer._

"I did fuck all" John sighed as he slumped down on his chair. What kind of a stupid essay title was that anyway?! And to get homework on his FIRST DAY at his new school! How ridiculous! He only agreed to go there because Harry had persuaded him. She said it was full of kids with 'high intellects' whatever that was supposed to mean. He remembered her thrusting the prospectus into his face the other week: "John! Look! There's this school down the road I found and it's _really _posh and all the rich kids go there but you don't have to pay, you just have to be clever and pass some exam thingy and then you'd go and it'd be awesome!"

John groaned. Why had he agreed? He could have just gone to the local secondary school, kept his head down and got no homework. But no. He had to go and pass the bloody entrance exam, be accepted to 'Chesterfield Academy for Boys' and get a stupid essay from a stupid teacher who he didn't even like. John leant back in his chair, unclenched his fists and took in a deep breath, thinking.

_Right, calm down. It's not the end of the world. The school isn't too bad. You haven't even given it a chance yet, you haven't had a chance to meet anyone and you only just moved to this area last week. It's only a pathetic essay, just make it all up. That'll be easier…_

John sighed heavily, wishing his mum was here. She'd have calmed him down. Sometimes he just couldn't control his anger. Especially since…

No.

John suppressed the thought, trying to covering up the fresh wound that had torn his heart apart. His mum was… she was… John covered up a sob and frantically wiped tears from his eyes.

"_John, I'm sorry but… your mother is dead…"_

He squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears running down his face as he relived that moment.

"_The car that hit her was going over 60mph, she died instantly."_

John's body shivered and he shook his head in an attempt to shake away the memories. He attempted to forget that stone face that the policeman wore, his dad's animal like howls of sheer disbelief, his sister's arms pulling him into a sloppy hug, his tears that rolled silently down his pale cheeks. He tried to forget, but he couldn't. It had been two months since the accident. They had moved away from the area, got a small shabby apartment in Bickenhall Street in London and John had started a new school but the memories were still so fresh. He couldn't write about his summer in a pointless essay. What was he supposed to write?!

_Oh my summer was spiffing, my mum got hit by a car and died so then my dad started drinking loads and Harry got arrested for underage drinking, now she has to do community service while I had to move house, leave behind all of my friends to go to a pretentious school where everyone wears a bloody waistcoat as part of their school uniform!_

John closed the lid of his laptop. _I'll do it tomorrow,_ he thought. No point trying now, he was too upset. John stood up and grabbed his jacket and mobile, he dodged past all the unpacked boxes and walked quickly down the creaky wooden stairs.

"Harry, I'm going out for a bit!"

John shouted back up the stairs. He paused in front of the door. No answer.

"Suit yourself"

John muttered. Of course she wouldn't care, she was too busy texting her girlfriend. And his dad wouldn't care; he was probably passed out drunk somewhere. John pushed the door handle and stepped out into the fresh evening wind, pulling his coat up around his neck to minimise the chill. His breath plumed out from his mouth in the cold November air and the frost on the grass crackled under his trainers as he walked.

It was only 7.30pm but the sky was dark, only illuminated by the bright lights of London. It was a bit different from the old quiet town of Witham where he used to live. John wasn't complaining, he loved the fast-paced buzz of London; it gave him a pleasant distraction. His mind could wander anywhere as he walked the streets, watching people hurry by, wondering why they were in such a rush. He liked to glance at the different people in coffee shops, chatting and laughing and all the cars roaring past. He liked the cold chill on his face and the humming of an animated city, it made him feel alive, feel like he wasn't just sitting in some dark and dank house, cleaning up empty beer bottles and tucking his own father into bed. John breathed in the musty air, relishing in the varied smells he acquired- the chicken shop, fish and chips, the odour of the old man who just brushed past, car exhaust fumes, something burning… wait… burning? John stopped and sniffed the air again. There was definitely a burning smell. But where had it come from? John wasn't all too sure where he was. He had let his mind wander; he hadn't registered his footsteps or even how long he'd been walking. John looked around at the surrounding buildings. Ok so there was a bank, fish and chip shop, chicken shop, a few clothes shops, a derelict building and an antiques shop. Wait… John squinted to the roof of the derelict building. There was a thin trail of smoke rising from the top of the building and… John stopped. He leaned closer, squinting his eyes to see against the dark backdrop of the clouds. There was… a figure. A boy. He was quite a tall boy, dark curly hair, wearing a long coat. The boy was just stood there. Staring straight ahead. Staring straight at John. John immediately averted his eyes, suddenly quite self conscious and concerned. Why was there a boy on a roof with smoke rising from it? John took a few paces forward, then glanced a look back to the building. The smoke was still rising but… the boy was gone. John shook his head, it had to be his imagination, it had to be! John double checked, triple checked but from where he was the boy had just vanished. John was going to ignore it, try and find his way home as it was approaching 8pm, he had heard bad stories of gangs in London and wasn't very keen on investigating those stories further. But he couldn't ignore what he had just seen- where had that boy gone? What was the smoke? John crossed the road and examined the derelict building. The windows were boarded up and a large red sign marked the door:

DO NOT ENTER. UNSAFE STRUCTURE.

John assessed the building and shrugged. Who cares if there are a few loose floorboards, it's all part of the adventure! John pushed the door but it wouldn't budge. He tried to remove some of the boards off the windows but with no luck. John began to get impatient. The longer he spent out here the more likely it was for the boy to have left. John tried the door again and it gave a little creak. He looked around him, no-one was watching, they were all too busy in their own lives. John leaned his shoulder against the door and with one small sharp shove, the door buckled inwards. John smiled to himself, all those years of rugby did pay off, being small didn't mean you weren't strong. John closed the door and giggled but stopped abruptly as he felt a cold weight pushed against the back of his neck.

"Don't move."

A soft deep voice commanded. John croaked "ok" and put his hands up beside his head, that's what people did in films wasn't it? John's mind was racing. It had to be a gang, a London gang, oh god he'd heard about initiation tests, Harry had warned him of the things they did… John slowed his breathing down, he couldn't risk a panic attack, he wasn't sure he had his inhaler on him. John jumped when the voice spoke again.

"What do you want?"

The voice sounded inquisitive, John couldn't tell if there was a hint of threat in the deep tones. His mind was still counting the possible ways he was going to be mutilated. He replied weakly,

"I was, just… uh… investigating…"

His excuse even sounded pathetic to him and his breathing quickened ever so slightly.

"Investigating what?"

The voice had lost the air of threat, instead it sounded… intrigued? John wasn't sure.

"I saw some smoke… and… well I was checking there wasn't… well, you know… a fire…"

John screwed up his face. _Keep calm John, you'll be fine. You know your way around a fight. If they try anything…_

The deep voice had got a slighter lighter tone.

"So, you weren't investigating the murder?"

_Oh god, oh god, bloody hell they're gonna murder me. I'm gonna die in a crappy building in London, shit._

John took a breath and his voice pitched higher.

"Murder?!"

John's tensed shoulders were aching, his sweat was starting to soak through to his shirt collar and his hands were trembling. Then, the deep voice laughed. John opened his eyes in confusion. It was still laughing, giggling. His shoulder's dropped slightly as he felt the cold weight be pulled away from his head but jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. Instinctively John turned, the anger had built up and his fist swung round. _Bring it on! _He thought as he smacked the guy's face. He fell to the floor as John squared up, ready to take on the other 20 men. Wait… John looked around. The building was empty. He looked down; a figure lay on the floor in front of him, clutching a bloody nose and moaning. John's adrenaline faded, he staggered backwards and stood panting.

"What was that for!?"

The figure pushed himself up slowly off the floor. John looked at him in the darkness. He was tall but was still young looking and very skinny. He had black curly hair and a long coat… John stopped, it was the boy. The figure he saw on the roof! How was he so stupid?! The boy was stood clutching his nose with one hand, holding a thick stick in the other hand.

"Nice to meet you to!"

The boy exclaimed sarcastically, wiping blood from his upper lip. John looked incredulous.

"Well you were the one holding a gun to my head! What was I supposed to do?!"

The taller boy sighed, muttering to himself- _Too much stupid in the room,_

"I was holding a stick to your head. A stick! Where would I get a gun from for God's sake I'm 14! It worked though, scared you witless!"

The curly haired boy giggled and tossed the stick aside, holding his hand out to John, who was doing a very good 'fish out of water' facial expression.

"Hi, I'm Sherlock Holmes. You must be John Watson. I saw you at school earlier. You're new aren't you? Just moved to this area, judging by your clothes and the fact you were out 'exploring' the area."

The boy smiled and turned to retrieve something from the floor.

"Hydrochloric acid."

Sherlock held up half a broken test tube.

"I was testing how it reacted with different parts of a frog's body to measure the decomposition rate of an eyeball. The guts were the best, exploded my test tube though."

Sherlock frowned as he put the broken glass back on the floor, crouching down to study something else he seemed to have noticed on the dusty surface. John came to his senses and shook his head. A minute ago, he thought he was going to die, now here he was listening to a skinny curly haired boy discuss decomposing body parts!

"Sorry, what are you doing?"

John took a step forward and peered cautiously over the boy's shoulder. He looked up and grinned.

"I'm solving a murder. You wanna help?"

Sherlock returned to studying the floor, which as far as John could see had nothing on it.

"Who got murdered?"

The boy frowned and stood up, removing a pair of latex gloves from his pockets and pulling them on.

"Peter Carlton went missing. People say he ran away from home but I know he got murdered"

Sherlock crouched to the floor again and picked up a pinch of dust, sniffing it.

"How do you know?"

Sherlock stood up, pocketing the dust and the gloves.

"I just know. The same way I know that you recently lost someone close to you which is why you moved to this area. I'd say your mum by your choice of clothing. Your dad has begun drinking more and your sister is following suit, recently arrested if the dent in your finger is anything to go by, you didn't want to move here and are nervous about fitting in at school, mostly because you fear you aren't clever enough and probably because you were bullied at your previous school however you have a strong moral character and inquisitive nature, for a 14 year old you are strong and enjoy rugby and your father used to be a military man by the way you hold yourself. You show little fear in the face of danger, or the face of a stick and are naturally sociable, although you don't like to admit it. How am I doing so far?"

John stood with his mouth open. Sherlock looked at him for approval, eyes glimmering in the dull light.

"Uh… that was… incredible!"

John's face broke into a smile as Sherlock's changed into confusion.

"Really?"

John nodded.

"Yeah! How did you know all that about me?!"

Sherlock's lips turned into a slight smile.

"I just observed. Obvious really."

Sherlock looked at John quizzically. This boy was the same age as him, shorter but with a stockier build. He'd had enough courage to enter an abandoned building in the night and was brave enough to start a fight (as Sherlock's nose reminded him by throbbing continuously) yet he had this shyness about him.

John looked at Sherlock. He hadn't remembered seeing this boy at school but based on what he had just said about John he wouldn't be surprised if he had only passed him in a corridor. He was clever, immensely clever and had been solving a murder and doing chemistry in an abandoned building. He was a puzzle. John saw Sherlock wrinkle his nose and felt guilty for hitting him. He looked down at the floor.

"Sorry about your nose."

Sherlock chuckled.

"No problem. You weren't to know I wasn't a gang leader who was going to murder you and cut your arms off."

John smirked.

"I still don't know if you are…"

Sherlock grinned and stepped towards John who screamed in mock horror, creating a cross with his fingers as if Sherlock was a vampire. Sherlock stepped back and pretended to melt to the floor as John doubled over with laughter.

"You're mental!"

John strained out between giggles. Sherlock chuckled.

"Nope, I'm just intelligent."

The boy's giggled and stood, staring at each other awkwardly in the darkness. Sherlock turned and walked towards the door.

"I'd better be going, watch out for evil vampire gang leaders…"

John smiled.

"Watch out for hydrochloric acid and frogs guts."

Sherlock grinned and stopped opening the door halfway.

"Did you, maybe want to help me? Like investigate the murder and stuff? We could walk here after school together?"

John nodded. He realised he hadn't made a friend and definitely wanted an excuse to be out of the house. Sherlock seemed nice enough.

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow, at school."

Sherlock smiled and turned to leave. 

"See you tomorrow."

Sherlock opened the door and started to make his way out but felt something press against the back of his neck.

"Don't move."

John said in a deep grumbling voice, giggling afterwards. Sherlock's nose twitched as if to remind him of its discomfort. Sherlock's lips turned into a mischievous grin, he turned, punching John hard on the nose. John staggered backwards, holding his bleeding nose. Sherlock patted John's back smiling.

"Now we're even, see you tomorrow John Watson."

John stood up straight, wiping his nose and grinning as Sherlock walked out of the door.

"See you tomorrow, Sherlock Holmes!"


	2. School Sucks

'BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP'

The alarm tore furiously through John's peaceful rest, jolting him upwards with an annoyed look covering his screwed-up face.

"Ughhh" John moaned as he rolled over out of the bed sheets. His bare feet padded across the carpet and he looked out of the window to the bleary morning. His head felt heavy as his eyes accustomed to the dim light of the rising sun.

"What day is it?"

John muttered under his breath, looking over to his alarm clock.

_Tuesday 15__th__ November_

A school day then. 'Damn' John thought. Better get ready, school starts at 8.45am. John glanced at the clock again.

_8.30am_

"Shit!" John hurried across the room, tripping over boxes as he went. He didn't think he'd ever got ready so fast, stuffing jam and toast into his mouth before shouting "Bye!" with his mouth full and running out of the door whilst shouldering his bag at the same time. The school was a 15 minute walk away; he had 10 minutes. John ran. He stopped every so often to catch his breath and take a puff of his inhaler, then continued to run, getting odd looks from passers by. The school gates were in sight and if he were in a cartoon, John thought fire and smoke would be puffing out from his shoes as he slammed through the entrance doors, panting. The clock on the wall showed 9am as John rounded the corner to his form room.

"Oh fucking hell, late on my second day!"

He stopped outside the room, took a deep breath and turned the handle, walking in.

The whole room turned and looked. John looked to the floor.

"Uh, sorry I'm late miss there was an issue and I…"

The teacher interrupted.

"Mr Watson, go to the headmaster's office now please."

John looked up at his form teacher, Mrs Hudson. She was quite old and seemed very nice; her worried expression showed John that she didn't really want to send him to the headmaster but there was nothing she could do about it. John nodded and walked out of the room, all eyes still focused on him until the click of the door sounded and John was briskly walking down the hall.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Sit down Watson."

The headmaster ordered. Headmaster Stafford was a giant of a man, so tall that he had to stoop to walk through doors. He was bald and had a stern face that looked like it wouldn't even flinch if a brick was smashed onto it with a hammer; and he was standing in front of John- a 5foot tall, 14 year old John who was late for school. John immediately did as he was told and sat. Headmaster Stafford had used his surname, he meant business. John stared straight ahead showing no expression- though his heart was thumping quite loudly.

"Why are you late?"

The headmaster's voice was deep and stern. John swallowed, removing the lump in his throat.

"I over-slept sir."

John remembered what his mother had told him on numerous occasions: 'Honesty is the best policy.' He was determined to stick to that for his mother's sake. Stafford's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned.

"Do you not have an alarm, Watson?"

"Yes sir, I do sir."

The headmaster's chair creaked as he leaned back into it, clasping his hands together slowly.

"Did you forget to set this alarm?"

John shook his head.

"No sir, I just… set it for the wrong time."

Stafford nodded curtly.

"Very well then. Your mistake will have to be punished, we do not tolerate unpunctuality at this school, do you understand me?"

John nodded and looked at the floor. The headmaster's voice boomed.

"Do you understand me boy?!"

John looked up quickly, wide eyed.

"Yes sir, of course sir."

The headmaster relaxed into his chair once more.

"Good. As punishment, you will spend an hour after school cleaning out the second floor restrooms. Of you go now."

John stood up quickly, mumbling apologies to the large man as he walked out of the huge office hastily. He breathed a sigh of relief outside the door. Boy was that man scary… John felt lucky he'd only been given cleaning duties; he could imagine Stafford giving out worse punishments. Still, John was annoyed. He planned to meet up with Sherlock after school, seeing as he hadn't made any other friends in the school, but now he couldn't. He'd just have to meet Sherlock later at the derelict building on Bridge Street. John sighed and walked down the corridor towards Maths. _Oh how thrilling this day was turning out to be…_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The bell rang after last period and John made his way towards the second floor toilets. He'd picked up the cleaning equipment- a bucket, a scraggy mop and the tiniest sponge he'd ever seen. Mrs Hudson had given them to him, with a small smile and a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, which made John feel slightly better about having to scrub crap off a bathroom floor. The door to the restroom squeaked as he walked in and the water in his bucket sloshed as he placed it on the floor. John had only just started mopping when the door squeaked again. John didn't turn to look, instead he said over his shoulder: "Sorry, these toilets are out of order."

A deep voice replied.

"Why? Did you blow up a frog?"

John span round to see Sherlock grinning at him, holding an identical bucket, mop and sponge.

"Need a hand?"

The taller boy asked as he moved next to John and began wiping the floor. John smiled at his friend.

"Why are you here?"

Sherlock's facial expression remained placid as he replied:

"Blew up a test tube in Chemistry. How about you?"

John giggled at Sherlock's calm answer to his question.

"I was late this morning."

Sherlock nodded in understanding.

"Stafford _hates _people being late. I'm surprised he only gave you cleaning duty."

John stopped mopping and raised an eyebrow at the other boy.

"I'm surprised he only gave _you _cleaning duty- you blew up a test tube for god's sake!"

Sherlock shook his head.  
"Yeah well, I guess he wasn't too hard on me 'cause I managed to identify that the hydro nitrate acid had gone bad and that it could have endangered the lives of the whole class…"

John hit Sherlock lightly on the arm with the handle of his mop.

"Like you didn't endanger the class with an explosion!"

Both boys giggled, but stopped abruptly when the door squeaked once more, letting through four tall lads. The boy in the middle was slightly taller than Sherlock, with black hair and a scruffy tie and the other three were quite similar in appearance. One was almost bald and had dark stubble for hair, one was skinny with blonde hair and the other had brown greasy curls. It was clear that they were older than John and Sherlock. The main boy gave a disgusting smirk and walked towards Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.

"Anderson, how are we?"

Sherlock said in a casual tone. The taller boy smiled and spat on the floor by Sherlock's shoes.

"What are you doing here freak?"

John looked Anderson up and down. He was quite thin and scrawny, but had this presence about him that made both him and Sherlock tense up. Perhaps it was his three friends, who were quite obviously rugby players, based on their muscles. John swallowed. Sherlock looked up at Anderson.

"We're on cleaning duty, so this toilet is shut."

"Good, so no-one should interrupt then."

Anderson turned to look at John, who resisted the urge to step backwards away from the taller boy.

"Who's this midget?"

Anderson's mates laughed as John clenched his fists and his anger began to build. He steadied his breathing, not wanting to let his anger overrule him again. Sherlock answered for him.

"Anderson, this is John Watson. He's new."

Anderson raised his eyebrows, a predatory look filling his features.

"New?"

Sherlock looked over at John, eyes flickering worriedly. John guessed that Sherlock was trying to help by saying he was new, but Anderson's face told him this was not the case. The tall boy licked his lips and took a step towards John.

"So, John Watson… What are you doing hanging around with a freak like Sherlock?"

John pushed his arms into his sides to stop them from shaking- he wasn't sure if it was in fear or anger. What did Anderson have against Sherlock? John looked the boy in the eye.

"He's not a freak."

John remained glaring coldly into Anderson's eyes, but was aware of Sherlock looking over at him in a slight confusion. The older boy smirked as his friends took a step in. John realised he was almost against the wall, with the door on the opposite end of the room. The sinks on his left blocked his way, as did the cubicles to his right.

"You're sticking up for him?"

Anderson seemed genuinely shocked, and pleased at the same time. John nodded, not releasing his stare. Anderson laughed, turning to the other three to share the joke.

"The freak has a friend!"

A blonde haired lad piped up from the back: "More like a pet!" which had the bullies in more hysterical laughter. John was tensed up, shoulders hunched and fists clenched with anger boiling up towards his brain. _How dare they!? _Sherlock noticed John's body language and looked over at him with a defeated look, trying to stop John from doing anything stupid. Anderson had calmed down, laughter being replaced by venom. He nodded his head, which signalled his three 'henchmen' as John thought they looked like. The boys walked forwards and before he had time to register what was happening, John's arms were being pulled roughly behind his back. He struggled, trying to kick out but only successfully kicking a cubicle door. Sherlock's eyes widened and he looked over at Anderson.

"What are you doing?"

John continued struggling against the three boys' grip as Anderson smirked at Sherlock.

"I'm teaching him what it means to be friends with a freak."

Anderson turned to John and daggers seemed to spring from his eyes.

"I'll re-educate you, Johnny boy. No-one hangs around with a freak. This is what happens to freaks…"

With the last line Anderson turned and swung his fist towards Sherlock, hitting him squarely on the jaw. Sherlock toppled backwards, steadying himself on one of the sinks whilst holding his jaw with the other hand. John inadvertently cried out "No!" and struggled once more against the boys' hold. Anderson moved towards Sherlock and grabbed his hair, pulling his head backwards. Sherlock winced and tried to pull away but Anderson hit him full in the stomach, causing him to double over. John twisted his body against the hold and for once thanked the fact he was fairly small, as his left-hand side was momentarily freed. He forced his elbow backwards, hitting stubble-dude somewhere unpleasant and then swung his fist to the side, knocking blondie backwards. Unfortunately he underestimated the strength of curly-boy who gripped John's left hand, digging his fingers in to cause red marks. Anderson let go of Sherlock, who slumped to the floor with a slight groan and stepped over to John. The smaller boy was breathing heavily, his anger had tipped over the edge and all he wanted to do was punch the living daylights out of Anderson's stupid face. A flutter of apprehension filled John's stomach as his anger moved to one side momentarily, reminding him that he was severely outnumbered, and that two of the FOUR taller boys were now staring at him, cracking their knuckles. John smiled weakly.

"Uh, sorry about that. I got carried away… you know I didn't…"

John's feeble apology was thwarted when Stubble-dude's fist slammed into his stomach. John groaned and slumped forward, catching Sherlock's pain filled eyes. John's head was lifted back up by Anderson.

"Well, then. Looks like our freak hasn't just got himself a friend; he's got himself a _boy_friend. Don't want to see him hurt do you Jonny?"

Anderson sneered and kicked Sherlock's stomach, who curled up defensively. John flinched and steadied his breathing.

"He's… done nothing… to you… bastard…"

John managed between breaths. He smiled cheekily at Anderson, trying to get the focus away from Sherlock for a second. John had been in fights before, he knew how to handle a bit of roughing up, but Sherlock was just so thin, he looked like he could snap in pieces at any minute. Sherlock sussed John's plan and shook his head at him but the boy remained grinning at Anderson, who grew increasingly red faced. The older boy put his face directly in front of John's and spoke slowly.

"Say… that… again…"

John scoffed to hide his fear. His plan was working. Sherlock was sat up; looking with concerned eyes at John but the boy was nose to nose with Anderson. John laughed at Anderson.

"You're a bastard."

Anderson lost it. He stepped backwards and swung his fist which connected with the left side of John's head. The younger boy fell to the floor as Curly released his hold. John sprang back to his feet to be met with a fist to the stomach and blondie's boot in his back. John fell forward again and was roughly grabbed and dragged back up to his feet. Sherlock stood up to try and intervene but couldn't get past the mass of bodies laying into John. The younger boy fell to the floor once more as another blow to his head drew blood at the temple. John groaned and managed to strain out "Sherlock… run…" before a kick to his ribs caused a crack and a cry out in pain. Anderson seemed to hear the remark, quickly grabbing John's arm and pulling it up behind his back. The frantic movement in the room seemed to die down as Anderson shouted.

"Don't move a muscle freak or I snap his arm!"

Sherlock stood still, staring down at his friend. John was face down on the floor, blood dripping from his head, nose and mouth with Anderson pinning him down and twisting his arm up his back at an awkward angle, causing John to hiss every time Anderson moved.

"Here's what's going to happen freak… I'm going to walk out of here in a minute and release your little friend. You're not going to move or speak or say anything to anyone about what has happened here, or what he just got will be a smack on the wrist compared to what I'll do to you. Got it?"

Sherlock swallowed and nodded slowly, not wanting to risk John any more pain. Anderson gripped the back of John's coat and hauled him to his feet. The boy was unsteady and shaky but kept a stony face as the taller boy pulled his arm slightly higher up his back.

"Andy, Joe, Will… go now. I'll be out in just a sec."

Two of the boys left but Curly hesitated.  
"What if they jump you?"

Anderson smirked.

"As if these two could jump me…"

Curly nodded and walked out of the room as Anderson pushed John forward into Sherlock, who put his arms out to catch the smaller boy. Anderson ran out of the toilets as John slid to the ground, clutching his ribs with blood still dripping from his head. Sherlock sat beside him; ignoring the pain it caused his own stomach and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You alright John?"

John's breath was wheezy and he nodded.

"Are… you… alright?"

John managed to rasp out.

"Yeah. I hate that kid."

John smiled and took a puff of his inhaler.

"He… seems to… hate you more. Has he… done stuff… like that… before?"

Sherlock frowned.

"Yeah, he beats me up on a regular basis. Not sure why. I haven't done anything to him."

John raised his eyebrows, causing a patch of dry blood to crack.

"That's what I tried to tell him."

Sherlock looked down at the floor.

"Uh… I'm sorry John. For… you know… getting you into this mess…"

John looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"Are you kidding? It wasn't your fault! It was that bastard Anderson!"

John's outburst caused him a fit of coughing and laughter at the same time. He sat up after clutching his ribs and smiled through swollen eyes at Sherlock.

"Thanks for sticking up for me Sherlock."

Sherlock looked down at the floor upset._ John shouldn't thank HIM for helping him. He did nothing! _Sherlock shook his head.

"No John. Thank YOU."

Sherlock patted John's back softly as John got up slowly, helping Sherlock to his feet, despite being the more injured party. Sherlock realised how lucky he was to have John there, they met yesterday and here he was getting helped up off the floor by a smaller boy with blood caked on his face and a possible broken rib. He'd never had help with his bullies before, everyone turned a blind eye- _the freak deserved it-_ but John Watson was different. He'd stuck up for him. John Watson had stuck up for Sherlock Holmes, and as the boys limped out of the room together, arms on each other's shoulders for support- Sherlock Holmes realised his life had just changed dramatically.


End file.
